


why is it always the supply runs?

by steamysthings



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Canon Compliant Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I APOLOGIZE, POV Second Person, Present Tense, alex!five, blood galore, gender neutral runner five, head injuries, i don't know shit or fuck about head wounds guns or explosions, it's 5am regardless but feel free to interpret as you like, mild delirium, not britpicked im sorry, sam yao x food, this is based on my five, updated tag: dad deaubl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steamysthings/pseuds/steamysthings
Summary: runner five hits the town for a casual supply mission on maxine's behalf. they ought to know by now that these never go according to plan.
Relationships: Runner Five & Everyone, Runner Five & Sam Yao, Runner Five/Sam Yao
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a balmy Saturday, the sun is still burning a consistent line across the sky even as the clock trundles on towards seven p.m., and Sam is talking at length about chippy vans.    
  
“ I’m just saying, surely someone’s got to be roaming the wastes in an Econoline, living the absolute fucking _dream_ , “ he says with a wistful sigh, his chair creaking as he leans back. You can imagine he’s making the same face he did last time someone found an untouched cache of spices in the back of a burnt-out restaurant in town, almost all full and unexpired, and the township food tasted like _actual food_ for a solid two or three weeks before the well ran dry. “ Zippin’ about. Frying up batches of chips, with vinegar and salt and - _mmmhm._ God, I would - well, I wouldn’t kill to get my hands on some, but I’d do some pretty questionable things, Five. “    
  
You snort out a laugh despite the fact that the thought of fried food makes you simultaneously nauseous and ravenously hungry, and pause mid-jog to catch a breath and inspect a vacant alleyway. It is, in fact, vacant, both of company and of anything useful, and you walk on. “ I’ll keep that in mind if I ever stumble across a deep fryer, Sam. Still clear? “   
  
“ Yep, still clear, “ Sam echoes back, seat creaking again. Another sigh. “ Pack of zombs way out to your east, they’re on the other side of that big bunch of flats, though, I wouldn’t be worried. It’s been real empty out this way according to our reports, New Canton’s, too. It seems like it’s been raked over so many times that we’ve all just collectively picked off the undead here, for the most part. “    
  
“ No complaints there, “ you mutter, adjusting the headset with one hand and pausing long enough to stretch a little, trying to dislodge the stiff ache nestled securely between your right shoulder blade and your spine, unsuccessfully. “ Does Maxine actually think there’s going to be anything left out here? “   
  
Sam makes a skeptical noise, fingers tapping the desk loud enough to register over the mic. “ I wouldn’t say she thinks there is, but most people don’t go into office buildings looking for first aid kits, so she may have had a point when she said businesses are supposed to have those. And fire extinguishers, too. “   
  
You huff, rolling your shoulders a little and picking up a slow jog towards the grey brick building Maxine had suggested as a starting point. The windows are mostly intact, although the front door’s destroyed, and has been for a while. “ That’s the place, right? With the big business directory out front? “   
  
“ Yep, that’d be it, 2205 Bri - Bridle? _Brindle_. Brindle Park Place. God, who wrote these notes, “ Sam confirms, shuffling some papers around. “ Everything looks clear on my end, just be careful when you head insi- hold on. “    
  
You slow, then pause, giving the area a cursory scan, unsure whether this is a _‘hold on and fucking run’_ or a _‘hold on, may have spilled marmite on the keyboard’_. “ Sam - “   
  
“ Movement, “ he clarifies, voice suddenly losing the jolly nostalgic tone of discussing renegade apocalyptic food trucks. “ At your - nine o’clock. Stay sharp, I can’t tell where it’s at, exactly. It’s not zombs, too high up for that. It might be scavengers? Hopefully scavengers. I’ve seen some people make camp at the top floor of gutted buildings like these just to get a keen eye on things, shouldn’t be any trouble. “   
  
“ This isn’t Dedlock turf, now, too, is it? “ you say, and you can tell Sam catches the uneasy tone in your voice, quickly jumping to reassurance.    
  
“ _No_ , no, they’ve stayed in their neck of the woods, thankfully, “ he insists quickly. “ And we’re way too far south of them, and you’d definitely hear them coming, or see them, they - “   
  


All of a sudden, like a radio switching off, Sam’s voice disappears into silence. The office building, the street, the empty alleyway and most concerningly the sun also disappear, and the disorienting whiplash of that rapid adjustment makes you glad you seem to be face-down on the ground already. You can’t feel anything, and you’re not even certain the rest of your senses are functioning at first, but one by one different characteristics of this new environment start to take root.    
  
Sunny seven o’clock-ish has turned firmly into nighttime. Dark, but not blackout-dark - the moon, maybe, probably, or a streetlamp, if any of those are still clicking on at dusk these days. Your vision takes a long _(second, minute, hour?)_ to focus, slowly absorbing the tilted view of your hand curled in the wet grass, the flat sprawl of what seems to be an empty field beyond that, and the dark sky, and indeed, half a moon hovering low over what could maybe be some trees, or a building, or a hill.    
  
Your hand seems to respond when you curl it, but you don’t exactly feel that the way you think you should, which is - not the best sign. Your lungs thankfully don’t require manual operation, so you can feel them still dutifully doing their part, although all you can smell is wet grass and dirt and something metallic, and you can also taste more grass than you’d strictly prefer to on a standard basis.    
  
Hearing - not quite online yet, not in any way you can actually decipher.    
  
You need to get up.    
  
The moment you try to move the rest of your body, it quickly gravitates from _‘I can tell this is still intact_ ’ to _‘I can only tell this is intact because everything hurts’_. Taking stock of individual injuries is no longer reasonable or necessary, because it all makes itself extremely apparent the second you convince your right hand and forearm to do some heavy lifting and push your chest up off the ground. You hurt like you’ve been sprinting, legs on fire, and there’s a distinct ache in your lungs and back, but all of it pales under the unforgiving throb currently hammering at the side of your head, which takes first place in the race for primary issue at the moment.    
  
Regardless, somehow your left arm also manages to figure out how to function, and by instinct alone you go from face-down to sort-of-sideways to sitting up, legs stretched out in front of you in the grass, leaning forward to avoid immediately collapsing onto your back because _God_ , that would be really nice right now, but it would definitely not result in you eventually getting back up. The world spins for a minute, and when it finally settles, your hearing seems to get the memo as well, although all it delivers from the left side is a tinny ringing, and the right doesn’t have much more to offer than the distant chirp of crickets and your own movement shuffling in the grass. Your sweatpants are covered in grass stains and dirt, and your right shoe is missing, but nothing seems to be broken from the waist down, despite the familiar muscle burn of sprinting for one’s life and not doing the recommended cooldown lap after.    
  
_You keep skipping the walkaround after missions and your hammies are going to explode, Five, and then where will you be, huh?_ Jack’s voice prattles off in your brain.    
  
_Sitting on my ass in a field, covered in blood, in the middle of the night, apparently,_ you answer to no one but yourself, _and who calls their hamstrings hammies?_ _  
_   
Covered in blood, though, that is a problem. The moon is bright enough to see now that both of your hands are smeared crimson, some of it drying but still an alarming volume, and your sweatpants in places, and if you turn your head a little to the left without twisting too far, you can see the left shoulder and sleeve of your hoodie are also drenched. You risk aggravating the pain to touch the side of your head, fingers making contact with what feels like a nasty gash, and you hiss even as you try to follow it and map out the damage. There’s a myriad of ragged cuts and raw spots, but you don’t feel bones or brains sticking out under sticky, soaked hair and skin, and your ear is still attached, although one of the cuts nicks up across your eye and even trying to open it is out of the question for now, so it’s monocular vision from here out.    
  
No headset. No Sam, and a slow, cursory twist-and-scan of the surrounding area proves that you must have dropped it somewhere else along the way from the business park to wherever this is. Which, thankfully, seems to be a relatively quiet part of the countryside, but that does nothing to help you figure out how to get back to Abel.    
_  
You need to get up.  _   
  
“ Fuck, “ you say, this time out loud, and your lungs protest with a coughing fit that almost puts you back on your face in the dirt, but by some miracle you crawl your way back upright and only wobble a little, spitting out a mouthful of grass and blood and leaning over your knees. As strong as the urge is to repeat that sentiment, too much noise will inevitably draw the horde, and you hate the idea of surviving _whateverthefuck_ has your head bleeding like a faucet, only to become a midnight meal for some shambling corpse. Or become a shambling corpse yourself.    
  
You chance a breath, deep inhale, deep exhale, and it’s shaky, and rattling, but you make it without your body trying to dislodge a lung, even when you straighten up properly. The field is empty and flat, and you can see a road in the distance cutting across it, a proper street with a sidewalk. One step, then two, then three - your legs are burning, but you can walk. You can walk. You blink, and you hit the sidewalk, which should be more concerning, but at this point so long as your body stays moving in the general direction you ask it to, you can’t complain about the occasional blip of consciousness, especially given that moving has only agitated whatever’s going on with the side of your face, and excessive blood loss is probably not out of the question.    
  
“ Just keep running, “ you mumble aloud to yourself quietly enough not to draw the attention of any unwanted friends, looking slowly up and down the street. Empty, a couple of cars already trashed and stripped to the left, and the right is empty, but points off towards the moon. East. East-ish. It looks vaguely familiar, like everything does nowadays, but more viscerally insistent that you’ve been here before. There’s a petrol station and an auto repair shop there, and those seem to be even more familiar as you slowly make your way along, noting the advert in the window of the station for some brand of chocolate.    
  
_God, that is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life_ , you remember someone saying of the horribly misdrawn cartoon dog on the poster, and you think it was Maxine - no, you _know_ it was Maxine, because you’d been looting for any missed supplies in dead silence to avoid drawing the attention of some nearby shamblers, and Simon had laughed so hard that you’d both damn near been food, and then you’d run -    
  
“ _Down the street past the green gate,_ “ you say aloud, or maybe you don’t, maybe it was Sam who said it before and you’re just remembering, but you do it anyway, walking at first. “ _It’s a straight shot from there to the rail crossing, and then you’ll have to dog to the left a bit, but you’re straight back to Abel after that._ “   
_  
Straight back to Abel. Run on home. If you can. _   
  
  
  
You make it to the railway crossing before your legs threaten to give out on you again, doing a quick half-blind look about before leaning against the signal light post and having to lock your knees to avoid sliding right back to the ground. In remembering the foggy details of that particular supply run, your brain failed to factor in distance, and even walking the past single kilometer is making it more apparent that you may have honest-to-god been running the entire span of whatever time you lost. Now that you think about it, the rail crossing is in fact a straight shot back to Abel with an optional sideways jaunt to go through the woods instead of the open streets, but it’s also three more kilometers. Perfectly doable on an average day, but less doable at night, while bleeding profusely.   
  
Also easier without zombs. Slowly but surely the concept of holing up in the auto parts store is sounding more appealing, despite the growing possibility that you may very well just bleed out instead, and you’d probably still end up a zombie or a meal for one. Maybe months and months back that would have been the easier option out, when the apocalypse was still freshly traumatic, when you didn’t have friends at Abel -    
_  
I called you my friend just before, didn’t I? Is that cool with you?   
  
Five?! Runner Five, what the hell was that? Five, report -  _

_ Run on home. If you can. _   
  
You start coughing again, and pick yourself up off the railroad signal.    
  
  
  
You don’t know when you caught a trail, but you did, and now running is non-optional.    
  
It’s some shamblers, not too close, but you can hear the weird, guttural sound the fast ones make at night, and it’s upsetting enough that you don’t want to hear it any closer. Open, pouring head wounds seem to be a wonderful zombie magnet, right next to shouting and screaming, and you’ve managed to keep yourself from doing too much of the latter, but the former - well. Again. Non-optional, despite the hand that now lives firmly braced against your left temple, mostly to keep the shock of your stagger-run footfalls from making your head feel like it’s going to fall off the next time you step down, because that’s feeling like an increasing risk. Maybe it’s the delirium settling in.   
  
The upside of making it this far this fast is that you can see the beacon lit on the top of the radio tower, blinking intermittently, calling you home the same way it did the last time your spectacular luck landed you alone out here in the dark. At least that time you’d had Sam, though, even if he couldn’t hear you, you could hear him, rambling on about ice cream rolls instead of silence in one ear and tinnitus in the other. You hope the familiar ground means you’re close enough to be on camera, however spotty and low-resolution the view may be in the dark. You hope someone is still watching the cameras this late. Sam would be. Of course he would be.    
  
The downside of being close to Abel is the fact that even now with renewed security, the dead still circle up around the fence at night, directly where you need to be getting in at the gate, and you’re less than half a kilometer away, which means they’ll be onto you soon enough, along with the ones at your back. The rooftop guard - well, Janine, mainly - hardly ever bother to fire at them this late, since no one’s out, and it’s generally a waste of vital ammunition. And one shot draws the horde ever closer, which means shooting them to get them away from the door will just attract more, and -    
  
_ Well, you aren’t known for your advanced planning, now, are you? _   
  
The other downside, of _many_ , is that you’re bleeding like a faucet, one shoe off and running in the dark, and the clouds have rolled in finally to offer some unwelcome coverage of the moonlight, your only source of light, and you’ve got one functioning eye, and what you wouldn’t do right now for a little Sam Yao shouting in your ear, even if it was useless fucking nonsense about ice cream rolls and chippy vans.   
  
You stumble as you careen down the hillside into the flat sprawl that makes up the area around the township, and immediately dog right to keep from crashing entirely, skirting around a handful of staggering shamblers loitering in the middle of the field. You’re laser-focused on not getting bitten, scratched, or falling, enough to not even chance a wave, though you hope the sudden shift of lights and movement up top means someone has seen you and perhaps doesn’t think you’re just a particularly agile fast zomb. You give the main gate a wide berth, trying to avoid the cluster focused on clawing in through the metal, all distant hoarse rattling and growls echoing across the field. The fast ones are closer then you’d like, much closer, and a glance back is enough to suggest that they have caught your scent, although all you can do is keep running. _Just keep running_.    
  
“ _Five!_ Runner Five, follow the fenceline! “   
  
You whip around to find someone at the edge of the secondary fence, a scrabbled-together chain link-and-barbed wire monstrosity they’d constructed to help mitigate the damage the zombs did to the main walls during reconstruction. It’s hardly bulletproof but it’s something, and it forms a bit of a tunnel around the outside of the township walls, and you don’t have the fuck to give about all of that right now - all you see is Runner 7 standing at one corner of the fence between it and the wall, banging a tire iron against the metal with a reverberating clang to draw the attention of the few closest zombs and pointing further down the path.   
  
“ Follow the fence, side gate! “ he shouts, and it takes a second and a half to process before you manage to bank left with a near-skid and run parallel to the side wall of the township. Some part of you remembers the barricaded secondary gate meant for emergency exits, but most of you is following pure instinct, a friendly voice’s shouted directions and little else.    
  
_Just keep running._ 7 catches up and runs parallel with you, keeping an eye at your six o’clock. _Just keep running._

  
A shot goes off, whizzing behind you somewhere and making contact with a dull, wet thump, evolving into a shrieking hiss. You don’t want to know how close whatever it hit was for you to hear it so clearly, and you don’t look back, because you’re dead certain you’d trip if you did. The ground is overworked closest to the walls, patrols and zombs pacing and mucking up the grass, and the combination of one sock, one shoe is not helping in the slightest against the mud. The fast ones have your scent, and you can hear that noise, now, nearly in your ear -    
  
Another shot, seemingly inches from your back, another disgusting, squelchy thud, and Runner 7 sprints alongside you as far as the fence construction allows, until you reach out to grab the edge of where the fence doubles back on itself, using the post to whip yourself around it and barrel down the corridor as fast as possible. They built it to double back ten meters or so, far enough to make a sort of inverted tunnel with another gate at the end, open in 7’s left hand, his right outstretched, and you don’t have the mind to reach for it. It doesn’t matter, because all he does is wait until you’ve made it one shoeless step inside at your current best full-tilt sprint, grabs a fistful of sweatshirt and throws you with your own momentum further through the fence before he closes it with a crash. You barely have time to catch yourself from a stumble before he’s already slammed the lock in place and caught up, one hand at your back and pushing you ahead through the open side gate in the proper wall around Abel.   
  
The gate bangs shut, and you finally stop running twenty paces in when the momentum wears off, pitching into another coughing fit while you find a wall to lean against. _Hamstrings, Five,_ something about _hamstrings. No cooldown walk toda_ y.   
  
“ Five, _hey_ , steady now, “ Evan says suddenly from your right, not nearly as winded but still on alert, one hand on your arm like he expects you to keel over. Which - fair point, given the coughing, and the blood he notices when you finally look around, trying to make sure of your location, that you’re actually back at Abel and you haven’t lost an hour or three again -    
  
“ Oh, god, “ he says abruptly, eyes bugging, probably at generally everything about how you look at the moment, to be brutally fair. His hand finds the side of your face not currently torn to shreds, trying to stabilize your shaking and wavering. “ Hey, hey, steady, _look at me._ Five - _focus_ , are you bit? “   
  
You don’t know why he’s so insistent you focus on him until you realize you’ve been scanning the courtyard wildly in an attempt to avoid any unwanted surprises, eventually facing him properly where he’s staring down at you like you ought to be shambling instead of - stumbling. His brows hit his hairline with gusto, but he repeats himself.    
  
“ Did you get bit? “ he asks, and you have to think about it before you shake your head in the negative, wincing immediately after as you realize how bad an idea that is right now, feeling a bit like your brain’s just been sent rattling around your skull.   
  
“ No, “ you manage, coughing again and making your statement all that much less reliable, hoping he’ll understand it’s from doing a 2k dead sprint through the brush with a head wound and no water, and not from a slowly worsening zombie infection. You’d know if you’d been bit, wouldn’t you? Everyone seems to know, to feel it quickly enough, and considering you absolutely jacked you are on adrenaline at the moment, it’d probably turn out like that guy at Naomi’s law firm, biting executives mid-presentation -    
  
He must understand, somehow, that you are not in fact brimming with undead tendencies, because you lose a number of minutes and click back on when he gently - almost gently - slumps you into a chair in the infirmary tent, and several people are shouting at once, the most aggressive of which being Maxine.    
  
“ Simon, I need more water and a better light in here - “ she yells out the door, and the tinnitus is much more rampant in an enclosed room, though the white noise barrage of shuffling feet and bottles and someone else murmuring in your general direction helps to mitigate that a bit. You’re distantly aware of someone wrangling your sweatshirt off, and the following chill, but considering you’ve sweat and bled through every layer you’ve got on, the cool air is more a relief than a punishment. Sitting means you can feel your spine and legs burning with the exertion of a life-or-death run and that’s not good, but neither is the jackhammer pain throbbing at your temple, or the way you keep skipping seconds at a time like a scratched CD.    
  
“ -ive, don’t crash on me now, “ you hear, and you didn’t realize quite how much of your field of view is lost with one eye closed, turning your head just enough to see Sam crouching on the floor next to wherever you’ve been deposited. One hand holding yours in a way that strongly suggests he’s reassuring himself you’ve still got a pulse, and the other braced against your left shoulder in a gentle attempt to make sure you don’t slide over off your seat, already smudged up with blood and eyes wide with worry. You need a few more seconds to actually take all that in, blinking on the one side foggily before you make eye contact. Sam brightens, just a fraction, squeezing your wrist. “ Yeah, _yeah,_ that’s it, don’t go - passing out on us or anything, okay? “ He pauses, expression faltering a little. “ Can you hear me? _Five?_ “   
  
“ Mh - “ you start, and cough again, managing to suppress it to a few short hacks. “ _Ahuh_. “ Eloquent. But it suffices for Sam, even though he still seems like he’s going to develop a stress ulcer just looking at you, glancing over at Maxine while she makes a clatter behind you somewhere.    
  
“ Good. Good, “ he says, despite the fact that none of this is good, and despite the way his grip tightens on your hand. “ We’ve got you. You got - we think you got shot out there, but you must have run off, we sent runners out to look for you, and - well, it’s not important now, just - _all_ that matters is that you’re home safe. Doc’s here, Evan’s off to find you some clothes - gonna be okay. Just stay with me for now. Alright? “   
  
You try not to trip too hard over the suggestion that you took a bullet to the head, because that’s a hell of a thing to consider when one is missing a lot of blood and severely concussed and overall deliriously exhausted. Instead your grip tightens on the one thing that doesn’t seem to change, returning the grasp Sam has on your hand as best you can.    
  
“ Alright. “


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone's gotta do damage control on all that budding physical trauma.  
> also known as, 'evan and maxine keep abel township functioning'.  
> self-satisfactory hurt/comfort? tender ooc characterizations? zero medical research done? you betcha.

Staying conscious is easier said than done, but it’s made slightly easier by the verifiable circus happening around you as the medical tent quickly goes from peacefully empty to a state of minor chaos.  
  
There’s always some extra concern when shots go off at night, always a few folks that get up to skirt the perimeter and make sure everything’s still clear, and you’d somewhat forgotten that it only magnifies when a runner’s been out missing for - three hours, apparently, according to what you gather amidst the several conversations happening at once. Three hours from Sam’s connection abruptly going offline to him spotting you as you passed by one of the cameras nearest Abel. It’s not the longest a runner’s gone quiet - it’s not even the longest you’ve gone quiet, given your little mishap with the new Canton ambush way back - but at night, after such a stark cutoff?  
  
Well. Sam gets jittery when someone puts him on hold mid-run for longer than ten minutes, so it’s a small wonder he’s holding it together at all.   
  
It might be that he's primarily focused on helping you physically hold it together, which is no small feat. Even sitting upright is a task that requires effort, and you have negative energy to do so, which means his permanent position eventually becomes sitting on an overturned bucket to your right with one hand wrapped around your bicep, keeping you from sliding to the floor while Maxine darts this way and that somewhere to the left of you, juggling a medical emergency and also the sudden interest of several other Abel residents. Namely Simon, and Janine, and Evan, and unfortunately Evan is the only one of the three of them who knows how not to make a ruckus while loitering.  
  
“ -side gate, the bloody side gate! We keep that locked up for a _reason_ \- “  
  
“ Janine, come off it, look at Five - Jesus, I mean, just look at ‘em, do they look like they were in fit form to go barreling in the front door through a horde? Brought you a light, Doc, and here’s - “  
  
“ They could have looped around the back to draw them away! God, the Major would have a conniption if she was - “  
  
You feel Sam’s hand squeeze at your arm, and you’re not sure if it’s a nervous adjustment or his attempt to comfort you amidst the overbearing amount of shit going on, but either way it helps. So does Evan, who flat-out ignores the barking and drops a tote of what you hope is clean laundry on the ground near your feet, trading a few quick comments with Sam in a calm tone you can’t quite decipher between the rest of the noise.  
  
“ -shooting at them in the middle of the night, like you’ve got a leg to stand on -”  
  
Maybe you’re a little grateful for the constant ringing if it dampens that part out. Evan drops into a crouch in front of you and says something about your ankles, then goes about removing your single shoe and muddied socks. _You were limping_ , you manage to make out. _Checking for sprains_ . That makes sense. It’s a good reason, even though you’re not positive you can still feel your legs anyway. It’s also a good excuse for him to stick close for a little longer, and distract you, as if checking for a tweaked muscle is anywhere near as important as the mess that is your head. He’s not head of runners for nothing, to be fair. Despite his stern conduct, he cares about all of you, and he does worry, though he seems to carry it better than anyone else most days. You probably wouldn’t be quite so calm if he was the one sitting in a chair covered in blood.  
  
“ Alright, that’s _enough_ , both of you, “ he finally snaps when Janine and Simon’s argument pitches up in volume a tad, glancing over at the two of them in the entryway of the tent without bothering to pause what he’s doing, voice even but serious. “ If you’re not going to help and you don’t want Maxine to give you a reason to be in one of these cots, get out. “  
  
They have the decency to look a little embarrassed, at least, and Janine, bless her, bristles anyways, enough that you can see from here how she tenses up. You know under the veneer of militant conduct she’s sweet, and she’s panicking over all this too, and her panic always seems to manifest as anger and unrest, and Simon’s just a troublemaker no matter what state he’s in so it’s not as though putting the kindling next to the firecrackers really leads anywhere good at this point. “ Mr. Deaubl, we have procedure around here for a reason, and - “  
  
“ Yes, I’ll make strict note of that when you end up shot and running for your life, “ he returns a little more sharply. Sam squeezes your arm again, and you know he’s not much of a fan of the tension either, but you can’t help the little spark of amusement. “ Feel free to write up a report for the Major about my violation of protocol if it makes you feel better, but do it somewhere else. Runner 3, make yourself useful or scram. “  
  
You don’t have the focus to hear them leave, but they must, because the shouting stops and you catch Maxine’s grumbling sigh of relief to your side. She mutters something vulgar and Evan chuckles quietly, even as he’s very obviously checking your shins for crawler bites, which you imagine is part of the reason he’s actually down there anyways. At this point every runner in Abel is moving on at least one tweaked ankle on any given day. Part of the gig, now. Sprains and bruises are beyond standard fare, emphasized by the fact that he doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the nasty purple splotching marking half of one shin, merely checking to make sure it isn’t fractured and moving on until he deems you free of broken bones and zombie infection. Abel can’t afford you or any of the other runners tapping out over anything that wouldn’t get you or someone else killed on a run.  
  
The head situation - that’s probably going to put you out of commission for a bit.  
  
“ - acting like teenagers, good god, “ the doc mutters when she finally returns, quickly pulling up a chair to use as a makeshift side table and setting down a handful of supplies, standing to your left and just behind you where she can access the worst of it. “ Okay. Alright, Five, are you still - ? “  
  
“ They’re awake, “ Sam confirms quickly with another squeeze, swallowing down the worried edge in his voice and glancing down. “ Yeah, Five? Still with us? “  
  
Are you? You make a noise in the affirmative and don’t manage much else, but it does the trick, and she must be gesturing in Evan’s direction, beckoning him off the floor. “ Come hold their head back - careful, careful, slowly, and Sam, just - you stay there, you’re good, “ she directs with the ease of someone who’s much too used to this by now. Evan does as asked, and as jarring as it is to move your head at all, it helps a little that you don’t have to actually do any of the work. It puts him and Sam just about on top of each other, but he rests one palm at the back of your skull and the other against your jaw, elbow propped up on Sam’s shoulder to keep steady, and neither of them seem to mind. You’ll tuck that away to remember when you’re not reeling from moving your head a whole three inches, or the sudden, stinging agony of fingers pressing at the edge of your temple.  
  
“ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, “ Maxine murmurs when you shudder and dig your heels into the rubber mat they’ve thrown down to make something of a floor in the tent, moving over a bit before a light clicks on, flooding the room with a yellow glow. “ God, shit. Alright. Okay. “ Another mutter and she digs around a bit amidst her supplies. “ This is going to feel - not great. Need to get you cleaned up before I touch anything. Evan, just - yes, like that. “  
  
Maxine isn't one to sugar coat things too heavily, but she may have made an exception this time, because 'not great' doesn't come close to accurate. Something cold washes over the side of your head and it feels amazing for the first three seconds before the burn kicks in - like dousing a cut in hand sanitizer but much _much_ worse - and thank God for Runner 7 anticipating that and keeping a gentle, iron steady grip on your head, otherwise the resulting backwards jerk would have had you slamming your noggin into the chair, and that would help exactly no one. Sam swaps hands, left around your upper arm as an anchor, right finding your left hand to squeeze it, and you don't quite hear a word he says when he murmurs at you, but it seems comforting.   
  
Saline solution, maybe, you guess, after what you hope are a few minutes have passed, and the breath you hear yourself suck in is raw and shaky, the cold air no longer as much a relief. Maxine is murmuring at you and trying not to slosh water down your chest, which is fruitless but appreciated, anyway. You're already a mess. Not like you can get much grosser. You take another breath, shivering again at the next dousing, but you manage not to full-body-flinch and make things even worse, partially helped by the fact that you’re just so damn tired.   
  
_Stay awake. You did promise. And Sam's going to have a fit if you pass out now.  
  
_ " Okay, okay, here we go, " Maxine murmurs, a wet rag brushing carefully against your skin to clean away some of the more stubborn spots. It hurts no matter how gentle she is, but the pain is sort of one big blur now, so you bite down and bear it as she tries to examine the damage with less ilk in the way. " I'm not feeling a fracture - I can't be positive without an X-ray or an MRI or something but that's not gonna happen anytime soon, so medical expertise it is. "  
  
The vague hint of humor doesn't stop the examination from hurting, but it doesn't make you feel worse, either. The washcloth drags over your eye, and you're a little startled to find you have any vision at all on that side when you open it, however fuzzy it might be. Maxine mutters to herself, making verbal notes while she works with a little too much practiced ease, metal clattering around on the chair in the tray of tools she'd grabbed earlier. " One, two....Evan, hold - yes, like that. "  
  
There's a wicked drag of pain all of a sudden right at the indent above your cheekbone, slow and awful and _God_ , why couldn't you fast-forward through that part? You didn't feel anything stuck in there earlier but you didn't look and you didn't want to know anyways, and now you're finding out by and large against your will. " I'm sorry, easy, easy, just one more piece - " Maxine soothes when you let out a grating whine, and 'just one more' turns out to mean 'just another thirty seconds or so of pure agony', but shockingly, the second time around you actually feel the pain ebb off a little, going slack with relief. Something clangs around to the side again and there's a fresh flow of hot blood dripping down your head, though the cold cloth pressing against it is much more soothing this time.   
  
" You lucky, lucky bastard, " she says, shaking her head, keeping up a gentle pressure with one hand while she fumbles with the other. " Sam, hold this - " He releases his grip on your left hand with a quick squeeze, acting as Maxine's tray table across you while he tries to keep his eyes firmly turned away from whatever godawful surgical procedure she’s doing. " Luckiest fucking runner in Abel, I'd put my money down on you being the luckiest person in the world right now. "   
  
" Please enlighten me on the luck factor here, Five got - eugh, just - doesn’t exactly seem all that lucky, " Sam replies, sounding like he's scraping the bottom of the barrel for any amount of positivity, and Maxine continues, carefully drawing your bad eye closed again.   
  
" The headset must have taken the brunt of it, of the shot, " she explains, voice quieting a bit when she focuses in on taping patches of probably-gauze over your eye, slower and more measured when she moves on to trying to dry off your more serious injuries and figure out how to patch that mess up with it still bleeding. " No entry wound, no bullet rattling around inside their head somewhere. It looks like this part might be where it grazed them, but otherwise this is just from the headset getting blown to pieces. Getting shot in the head and not dying on impact? Thank God they built those things to last or it'd be Five's head getting blown to-"  
  
" Maxine, " Evan interjects gently, Sam squeezing your bicep again and shuddering like he's trying not to pitch over and puke, and you wonder how he's managed that so far. You’re certain the only reason _you_ haven’t is because there’s nothing to bring up.  
  
" Sorry. Point is - this is all shrapnel damage, and it looks bad, but you know how head wounds bleed, so it's not as bad as it seems. The major concussion and the shock are a different story, but considering the alternative - "  
  
" It's a garden party by comparison, " Evan provides.  
  
“ Exactly. “  
  
“ A bloody garden party, “ Sam repeats wearily, dropping his head onto your shoulder for a moment with equal parts dread and uncertainty, and relief. You share the sentiment. Or you would if you could feel much else besides ‘ow’ at the moment. The doc makes do with some kind of assortment of gauze and medical tape and rather abruptly you don’t really remember what else, because at some point in the process she mentions moving you to the cot to lie down, and you faint the second Sam and Evan try to lift you out of the chair.  
  
*  
  
The silence in the medical tent is deafening for a solid ten seconds.  
  
“ Uh - “  
  
“ Sam, it’s fine, they’re fine - “ Maxine tries to soothe, though Sam’s already fully fending off a panic attack.  
  
“ That’s not fine! That’s - KO’d with an egregious head wound, it’s not fine! “  
  
Evan huffs, patience wearing thin, and stoops enough to get his arm under Five’s legs, hoisting them up in a bridal carry to move them across the tent. They were all trying to be careful and mindful of the pain before, but - well. They’re not getting any less conscious. Might as well just go for it.  
  
“ Like I said, I know it looks really bad - “  
  
“ You can’t say this isn’t really, really bad. “  
  
“ Okay, yeah, it’s bad, but they’re - here, hold on, 7, we need to get their legs elevated, and - yeah, just shove some blankets under like that - they’re pretty rough, yes. But the worst part of it was stopping the bleeding, and getting the pieces of plastic out, and this part sucks, but they’re alive. Take a deep breath. “  
  
Sam groans, taking the brief opportunity to scrub at his messy hands with a spare damp cloth, trying to clean himself up in the interim before rubbing his face, every nerve on fucking fire. The med tent is even more of a mess than usual, bloody wads of gauze and repurposed towels piled up in a bin, and he can stomach blood, sure. He sees plenty of blood and injuries and gnarly zombified corpses and regular corpses more than he’d like to, but usually the blood isn’t pouring out of one of _his damned runners_ . At least not in such high volume. And it’s - a lot.  
  
There’s a _lot_ of blood. On the ground, on the chair, on his hands, on _Five_ -  
  
_Get it together, Yao, Maxine may actually kill you if you faint, too,_ he reminds himself, taking a breath to try and force some calmness and failing. Evan’s taken care of transporting Five, thankfully, bless him and however in God’s name he’s managed to keep his cool throughout all of this. It’s alarming how at ease he can be, still dressed for bed, filthy from the knees down with dirt and up to the elbows with blood smears, and not panicking. Not when Five drops like a rock the minute they tried to move them, not when he lays them out on the repurposed camping cot in the corner and they slump like a sack of potatoes.  
  
_They’re fine. It’s fine. This is fine._  
  
Maxine directs and nudges and gets things arranged into some semblance of order so she can go about bandaging up Five’s face, Evan at the head of the cot and her sitting just to the side, and Sam posts up beside her while she works, nervously curling his fingers around Five’s wrist. _Still a pulse._ Not the steadiest, but definitely there. And they haven’t exactly fainted completely - occasionally they’ll make a noise or shift in response to the pain, or to the noise, though it falls tersely silent for the most part while the doc is working out how many kilometers of bandaging it’s going to take to keep things in place for the night. Or the week. Or however an injury like this takes to heal.  
  
“ How, er - how long _does_ something like this take to heal, exactly? “ Sam asks quietly when he realizes he has no idea, trying not to sound quite as tense as he feels. Maxine makes a face like she doesn’t want to answer and _that’s_ no comfort, wrapping the bandages around Five’s head a few times until she’s satisfied the wonky patch job is sitting well enough. She’s taped other pieces down the side of their cheek and jaw where more of the damage sat, but it doesn’t seem as dire thereabouts.  
  
“ It depends, “ she says, and Sam could not hate that vagueness more, so he’s grateful when she continues. “ They’re going to have a hell of a concussion, purely from that impact. And they were out there a while, and they definitely ran at least part of the way back, and then just getting in wasn’t easy….” She sits back a bit and shakes her head. “ A concussion and the lacerations should both take a week or two to heal, maybe longer… it’s not as easy as a cut I can stitch up, it’s - well, I’ll spare you the grisly details. Maybe three weeks. And that’s just this, not including any other injuries. “  
  
As if on queue, Five grumbles a bit, head drooping to the other side lightly. They don’t seem to wake up properly, though, and Sam swallows, squeezing their hand again slowly and keeping his voice low. “ But they - “  
  
“ They’re gonna be fine, “ Maxine says before he can even finish with the sort of confidence that she hasn’t actually allowed herself to consider any other possibility. “ Probably a lot of scarring. That left eye doesn’t look great, I won’t be surprised if there’s some damage to their vision. But they were as alert as anybody could expect them to be, I’m shocked they were awake through all that. They’re a trooper, Sam. Not a bite on them. And thankfully we’re stocked up enough to get by so long as no one else decides to go unknowingly play chicken with some asshole on a roof. “ She sits back, watching Five closely, nudging Runner 7’s elbow with hers. “ You pass that message on. “  
  
“ Might not be a bad idea to bring it up on the whole, actually, “ Sam mutters, swallowing again. “ We had zero reports of anyone hostile camped out that way. No Dedlocks, no survivors with a sticky trigger finger...New Canton hasn’t had any trouble. All of a sudden, some - dickhead with a rifle sees a runner and shoots? Doesn’t feel right. Most people wouldn’t waste a bullet. “  
  


“ People get desperate, “ Evan provides with a shrug. “ Flighty, defensive. Simon said the only thing they found was the headset, or whatever was left of it. Obviously they must have grabbed the pack if Five dropped it and bolted. Not saying it’s not important to keep the runners updated, but I would believe if it were just someone getting squirrelly. “  
  
“ Squirrely’s one thing, shooty’s another. “ _Is shooty a word?_ Five takes a breath and he loses his train of thought, watching them carefully. Still more out than in. Maxine digs around for a towel, shoving it into Runner 7’s hands with a bottle of water and using another washcloth to clean her own hands up.  
  
“ Give me twenty minutes, “ she directs, and Sam blinks at her owlishly for a moment, expecting her to move before she reiterates. “ Go on. You two, both of you, go get some air and clean up. “  
  
_Leave?_ “ What? No, “ Sam says, brow furrowing up, and it’s a little mortifying how fast his own heart rate kicks up at the thought of moving out of sight now that he’s finally got Five back on solid ground, within reach -  
  
Maxine stands, and he looks at Evan for backup, but no such luck as he’s already moving away from the cot. “ You need some fresh air before _you_ pass out, “ she explains, patting his shoulder. “ ...And I need to get Five out of these clothes, and set up an IV because they’re gonna need fluids. And I think that’s probably better off done with a minimal audience. It’ll be quick. “  
  
“ But what if - “  
  


“ Sam. “  
  
“ - something could ha- “  
  
“ I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, I will shout the second something does, but it won’t. “ This time she gently, politely pushes Sam in the direction of the exit. “ And the faster I get this taken care of while they’re out of it, the faster you can come back. “  
  
“ _But -_ “  
  
“ Come on, “ Runner 7 says like he’s starting off on a jog, passing him the bottle of water and taking over for Maxine in the process of gently-forcibly relocating him. He cranes his neck to twist around and watch Five anxiously, despite the gentle-but-firm insistence that _she’s a doctor, Sam, if they’re safe with anyone it’s her, the worst part is already over, we’re both a mess._  
  
He can’t help his facial expressions, but he finally lets Evan bully him out of the tent, over to the benches nearer to the wall. He can’t bear to sit still, either, pacing a little for a moment before the frustration gets the best of him and he scrambles to yank off his jacket, wadding it up and spiking it into the ground as hard as he can. It hits the ground with an otherwise unsatisfying thump, but the brief exertion feels like a step in the right direction, leaning over with both hands on his knees to breathe.  
  
Now that he’s actually taking stock of his own state of being, he feels like garbage. Up since six a.m., and there was no way he’d get off air while Five was still out there, and it’s - edging on towards midnight. The last few odd hours had been a coordinated nightmare, trying to find a functioning camera with an angle that could maybe show what the hell happened to immediately cut off his audio and GPS. Usually if something goes wrong they’ve got _something_ to go off of, but this time there was just - nothing. No real warning, no straggling audio - the camera he’d spotted the movement through hadn’t been pointing at Five, and it didn’t capture audio there, either. Just a location for Simon to investigate, and then he’d found the remnants of the headset scattered all over the street, and blood, and suddenly sitting down seems like a good idea.  
  
“ I shouldn’t have sent them out solo, “ he groans once he finally slumps down on the bench, elbows on his knees and hands in his hair for a brief second before he remembers they’re a mess, too and he probably shouldn’t be touching anything, let alone his face. “ I could’ve waited and sent them out with Simon, or something - “  
  
“ Sam, you could do everything by the books and something could still have happened, “ 7 cuts in, soaking a corner of the towel and mopping up as much of the filth off his arms as possible before passing it over to him. “ You said yourself, we had no reason to be worried something would go wrong. “  
  
“ But I’m - I’m supposed to keep these things from happening! I’m supposed to be - “  
  
“ The world is supposed to be _not full of the shambling undead,_ but that’s where we’re at. “ Sam snaps his mouth shut and watches Evan shake out his dusty shoes, hastily thrown on when the alarm went off that Five was making their way in and would need some help actually managing that. “ You can think about the alternatives until the sun comes up, but it’s not going to make anything better. And I’d be willing to bet Five would say the same thing as I will. “ He lands a gentle punch dead center of Sam’s arm, startling enough to make him squawk out a noise of indignant surprise, rubbing furiously at his shoulder as he snaps his eyes over to gawp at him. If nothing else he’s momentarily distracted by 7, of all people, playfully roughhousing in any sense, despite the fact that it doesn’t really hurt.  
  
“ Don’t beat yourself up about it. “  
  
Sam blinks, mouth still cast into a frown. “ Yeah, no, I suppose that’s your job now, huh? Wailing on your poor radio operator and his soft, bruisable everything. “ That gets a laugh out of Evan and Sam laughs a little, too, despite it all, sinking back a little against the bench and sitting in relative silence for a few seconds once it fades off. He’s a little cleaner, a little more sane. Not much. But enough to manage.  
  
“ You think they’re gonna be alright? “ he asks, because he has to, and maybe if enough people tell him he’s worrying too much, he could start to believe it. Unfortunately Evan is too realistic for sourceless coddling, though maybe that would be too fake to trust.  
  
“ Probably not for a while, “ he says quietly, glancing over at the tent and back again. “ Physically, emotionally, _Christ._ Hell of a night. That’d take anyone down a few pegs. But they’re in good hands now. They’ve got Dr. Meyers, they have the rest of us. They have you. “  
  
The silence settles in again, Sam rolling that odd mix of reality and reassurance around in his head. Evan deems himself clean enough to manage eventually, shoving his shoes back on and standing. He scoops the discarded jacket off the ground and gives it a shake, tossing it over beside him on the bench. “ I’ll take radio duty tomorrow. _Don’t_ argue, you’re not getting any sleep anytime soon, and we don’t have anything major on the schedule anyways. I’ll update everyone on the situation. Or have Jack and Eugene do it. “  
  
He opens his mouth, then closes it, sighing again. No point in arguing when the thought of trying to go to bed or get on the radio tomorrow for any of the runners makes him queasy. “....Thanks, Evan. “  
  
“ Two way street, Mr. Yao. You can’t look after us if we don’t do the same for you. “ Runner 7 gives him a bastardization of a two-finger salute and a reassuring look before heading off towards the comms shack, leaving Sam in the relative silence by himself. The occasional distant groan or hiss, and various night patrols, and Maxine in the tent shuffling around, but otherwise the chaos has died off into some sort of calm again.  
  
_They have you. They’ve got a great big hemorrhaging head injury, but they’ve got you, too. You’ve got them._  
  
“ Alright, “ he murmurs to himself, brushing some of the dirt off his jacket and fidgeting with it a bit before shrugging it back on and letting out a breath. “ We’re alright. “  
  
*  
  
The next time you wake up, your arm is asleep, and you feel like someone took a shovel to your head, but surprisingly you don’t feel all that terrible. It takes a few minutes to actually comprehend what you’re seeing and hearing with your limited view; first you recognize the ceiling of the med tent, and the distinct pattern of light hitting the roof, which can only mean it’s finally daytime of some kind. There’s some noise, a little fuzzy in the distance, movement and chatter, the usual daytime sounds of the Township living and breathing, and other noises closer up. Footsteps, glasses clinking, quiet conversations, snoring. Not yours, but someone’s. You definitely are only seeing out of one eye, and your ear on that same side seems a little muffled, though you can’t discern why, but the ringing has disappeared, and what vision you do have is foggy from sleep but all in all pretty intact.  
  
Moving aches a little, even just to roll your head to the side, but it’s not the hammering throb it was before, just sore overall. You can see Maxine on the other end of the tent poking through some supplies, and tilting your head down a touch more gives you a better view of the source of the snoring. Sam, ever vigilant and completely conked out, presumably sitting on the floor next to the cot with his left arm gently but firmly tucked around yours, forehead resting against the crook of your elbow.  
  
You can’t bear to try and move him, so you move your other hand instead, though that’s occupied by some tape and tubing situation high up on your forearm, and you glance over groggily, following the line up to a makeshift drip bag somehow affixed to one of the support poles on the inside of the tent, mostly empty. That arm hasn’t gone numb, at least, and you try to test the same with your legs, and they seem to be in some working order still. You could do with a good full-body stretch, but you have a feeling that might introduce some surprise pains you’d rather not deal with at the moment.  
  
Maxine turns and sends a cursory glance your way, double-takes and pauses, and you shift your gaze over, meeting hers with a quirked brow, as that’s some of the only expressiveness you can put out immediately after waking. “ Well good morning, “ she greets, barely above a low whisper - more for Sam’s benefit than yours, you think. She sets down her handful of supplies and heads over, walking around the head of the cot to check the bag and leaving it be. “ Well, afternoon, but still. “  
  
You swallow, and your throat feels like you’ve been eating sand, so when she looks back down to see if you can muster up a response, you sign with your unoccupied hand instead to avoid throwing yourself into a coughing fit. You only get a few letters into ‘how long have I been out’ before she catches on, glancing down at her watch. “ It’s almost four pm. You’ve been asleep….sixteen hours? Give or take.  
  
It’s not as bad as you would have expected, and you feel appropriately tired for the time. You glance down at Sam and point sluggishly with another raised brow, and she smiles faintly, keeping her voice down. “ Yeah. He’s been here the whole time. Runner 7 took over the comms for the day. “  
  
She glances out as the front gates rattle in the distance, covering fire crackling off, all familiar white noise by now. Sam doesn’t so much as shift, still mashed into your forearm dutifully and snoozing away. You can’t see his face at this angle, but you imagine if he’s out this hard, he probably didn’t sleep the night prior at all. You wouldn’t have either if your body hadn’t given up against your will. Managing to catch Maxine’s attention, you start signing again. _‘What happened?’_

“ Long story short, some trigger-happy scavenger shot at you, and somehow your headset took the brunt of it. We couldn’t find any footage close up, but it looked like you just - dropped everything and bolted off. Good reaction to have. Must have run a while and maybe stopped to rest, or passed out, I’m guessing you don’t remember too much. “  
  
You pause, trying to dredge up the details, and offer a wobbly so-so motion as your response. Maxine just nods, sitting on a supply crate within your view. “ Figured. You were out for a few hours, we sent Runner 3 out after you but he couldn’t track much. Stayed on trying to scan the cameras, get New Canton looking, whatever we could, and then you popped up on one of the cameras just outside of the township. “  
  
That, you remember, nodding just slightly. “ Yeah. I think you were awake for most of us patching you up, but you conked out after a while and we just figured it was easiest to let you sleep. Got things wrapped up, some fluids. Kicked worrywart here out to get some air. “ You smile, and she smiles back, looking more relieved at the response. “ Head hurting pretty badly still? I gave you something for it a couple of hours ago, should still be working. “  
  
_‘Better’_ , you sign, swallowing again and licking your lips. A slow breath doesn’t incite too much hacking, so you opt to try and talk instead. “ Water? “  
  
“ Don’t choke, “ she warns, tracking down a bottle with a narrow enough mouth not to spill everywhere and allowing you a tiny shred of dignity in the form of sort of drinking for yourself. It’s hardly elegant and your grip is shaky, but you do manage to not choke somehow, and by the time you’ve labored through that, the drip bag is empty, so she takes the opportunity to free you from that, too. You’re luckily too exhausted to get nauseous over the needle situation, letting your head sink back against the pillow. “ Alright, that seems to have helped, getting some fluids in you. Not looking so anemic at least, “ she murmurs, sticking a bandaid over the spot and casually checking your pulse and temperature at the same time. “ By god, I’d almost say you’re stable. “  
  
“ Don’t jinx it, “ you murmur, and she suppresses a laugh, setting the empty bag aside to deal with later and sitting again.  
  
“ Knock on wood, but for someone who got shot at, you look great, “ she says, and you huff a little, though that’s all you can manage. You don’t feel great, but you’re not dead. A little foggy, sore as hell, but you seem to have gotten clean somehow in clothes that aren’t soaked through with blood, right hand tugging at the blanket over your lower half a little. The side of your face is feeling a little mummified, and you still can’t feel the arm Sam is twined around, and your legs are going to be on fire later. But you’re alive. Not bit. Back at Abel. All a little miraculous.  
  
“ Has he been on the floor the whole time? “ you ask, glancing down at Sam a little more and watching him stir a bit, though he doesn’t quite wake. Maxine rolls her eyes.  
  
“ I offered him a bed, “ she says, sighing. “ Wanted to be right there. Runner 7 and I had to fight to even get him to leave so I could get you cleaned up. So the minute you were resting and I was done… bam, like velcro. “  
  
If you could spare the blood, you’re sure you’d be blushing. He’s actually made himself a comfortable enough spot, resting his arms and head on the cot, knees curled up on the floor under him, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your back hurt just looking at it. You sigh softly, reaching over with your free hand to rest your palm against his hair, though you don’t try to jostle him awake. He seems to need the rest as much as you do.  
  
“ Can I safely assume I’m off the run schedule? “ you ask, still quiet but all dry sarcasm, and Maxine huffs, standing again to take the water bottle and set it upright within reach.   
  
“ If you weren’t, I think I’d be dealing with a heart attack next, “ she replies with a purposeful gesture at Sam. He seems to sense that, taking a deeper breath only to adjust position a bit and settle again, free hand groggily brushing across yours and stopping to relax there. You smile a little more despite yourself, and pretend you don’t see Maxine forcibly swallowing down a sappy comment. “ You probably ought to get some more sleep, “ she says instead.  
  
You yawn, as if on queue, and close your eyes, not bothering to pull your hand away. It’s not the most comfortable angle, but it’s worth the minor inconvenience for an anchor, and Sam rubs his face against your arm in his sleep. “ Can do, Doc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed reading, because i certainly enjoyed thinking about this and nothing else all week!  
> this is the end of this segment for now, but i'm leaving the chapters as ???? on the off chance i want to add more later. *u*

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading my self indulgent whump <3 i'm currently only up to ZR s2e11 so no spoilers for any future drama. i got sick of trying to write this background for my five's scars as a comic, ergo, fanfic instead.  
> relevant art can be found at steamysthings on tumblr under my zr tag!


End file.
